Nymphadora The Explorer
by Sage Defender
Summary: Probationary Auror Nymphadora Tonks receives her first solo mission: Search for and recover Morgana LeFay's cursed spellbook. This is NOT a crossover, the title was just too much fun to let it go. *Normal disclaimer of not owning the Potterworld applies*
1. Chapter 1

Perhaps tripping over one's own feet was not the preferred method of entering a cursed chamber. It did, however, save her head from permanently losing contact with her neck. Pulling herself into a crouch over her scuffed combat boots, Nymphadora Tonks risked another glance at the scythe now firmly lodged in the upright doorpost. A few strands of bubblegum pink hair dangled from the blade, emphasizing the near-miss. Maybe Moody wouldn't catch them. Not at all likely, but still a girl could dream. Tying the laces in a double knot, she tucked them firmly behind the tongue in a futile hope that they would not loose themselves very quickly.

According to the intelligence obtained by the Auror Office earlier this evening, the cursed book resided in a well-warded room reached by some means along the westward wall. Tonks would never have been allowed on this mission, even with her mentor Mad-Eye Moody, but for two things. First was the need for immediate recovery before the current possessor's dark-minded friends came to whisk it away. Second were the legends whose truth had been mostly verified. Should any male come in contact with it, they would turn to stone from the outside in, while simultaneously burning to liquid from inside out. The resulting statues were rumored to have been treasured decorations spread about Morgana's house and grounds. One poor soul, his face turned towards the heavens, arms akimbo had even been in the bathing chambers, to hold towels and clothing.

Years previous, these limitations would have easily been met by a number of talented witches, but the battle against the Death Eaters had decimated the ranks of Aurors, leaving few to begin with and almost no witches at all who had been trained in the Auror-craft. When orders had hastily come, Moody paced - each step of his carved wooden leg a staccato echoing his bad humor. How that man could curse! Her eyebrows had raised enough to hide along her scalp at the creative and curious invectives falling from his battle-scarred face. In the end, though, there was no help for it. Whether ready or not, Probationary Auror Nymphadora Tonks was to be tested in a solo mission to find and secure the spell book of the ill-favored Morgana La Fey, a witch whose creative cruelty was still whispered about these hundreds of years later.

Staying under the shadow of the scythe, figuring that the dark wizard who had set this up would assume a body to reside here and, therefore, not have an enchantment in place, Tonks tried to purposefully think like batty Bellatrix. Towers of stacked furniture and random knickknacks piled around a central aisle that lead deeper into the vaulted underground room. They probably used a charm, as the knoll beneath the house wasn't that expansive. Most people in general would take the obvious path, but it was sure to be peppered with traps. Wizards and witches that had embraced the benighted side of magic tended to use light as a lure, rather than an assistance. Thus, she knew to be leery of any brightness in this lair. Darkness shrouded the nearest wall. If nothing lurked there, she would be able to slink along the shadows and obtain a better view of what was beyond the gilded cage and mirror nearest the west wall.

Quietly, she muttered "Lumos" and watched the stream of light overtake darkness. From somewhere in the middle of the room came a muffled "pop" followed by a whooshing. Quick reflexes born of a propensity towards troublesome situations had Tonks rolling to the side with a snappy "Protego" flung out on the fly. Bandages tried ineffectually to attach themselves about the hastily erected shield, another set joining the melee soon after the first. Ducking behind a nearby armchair, Nymphadora dropped the charm. Great flapping strips looking like avenging pterodactyls zoomed forward, capturing the plush brocade in their grasp.

Warily peeking around the now-still bandages and listening for her opponent's movements, Tonks pushed bright pink hair out of her face. Nothing. Stretching her patience as well as her senses, she couldn't distinguish anything to let her know who she faced or where they were located exactly. Dodging from shadow to shadow as stealthily as her clunky boots would allow, the Auror attempted to get a better vantage point.

Eyes, there were a pair glaring contemptuously at her from a portrait. Rather closely set almost black brown eyes crowded over a sharp, needle-like nose which in turn pointed the way to a full lipped mouth that should have been considered generous were it not pulled tightly into a sneer. The jewel-strewn talon-like fingers of her right hand aimlessly tapped frustration out on her persimmon shaded velvet robe. As she stood before the fireplace carved in the family's coat of arms. Tonks startled a moment, knocking loose what looked to be a cracked Remembrall from somewhere above, before coming to the conclusion that she must have no other portraits about if she simply stared instead of rushing off to notify others that the chamber was being trespassed. Layers of dust on the frame was proof that she obviously hadn't been a favorite, not if she had been relocated to the basement and never properly cleaned. Giving the painted lady a weak smile, Tonks continued onward, slipping on the cracked orb but catching herself before hitting the ground. Having no choice but to cross a well-lit expanse, Tonks lifted her wand to the ready and stepped into the light.

As soon as her foot moved onto the path, a brass cauldron flew from the wall of furnishings, bouncing off her head. Not that she hadn't been expecting an attack, but couldn't they have charmed something soft like gloves or maybe a cloche hat? Dashing into a crevice between towers of chairs and some very dated decorations, Tonks reevaluated her options. The cauldron had recovered its bearings to once again charge directly at her. Heart sounding loudly in her already ringing ears, Tonks let her gaze flit to the miscellany around her while keeping the troublesome pot in view. Remembering her first attempt at using a spell to get the dinner dishes cleaned and put away, Tonks searched for something large enough to cover the cauldron. Half-hanging off the secretary she had emerged from behind was what appeared to be a set of formal linens. Perfect.

"Accio linens" she thought out intently. Another pop and bindings appeared once again. Splaying herself flat on her back as the wrappings twisted themselves about the determined cauldron. Tonks kicked back to her feet just in time to catch the summoned tablecloth. Unfortunately, her passionate focus was more than the situation warranted. Five additional tablecloths barreled into her chest, followed by three table runners, fifty placemats, and what appeared to be an entire army of mismatched dinner napkins. Groaning under the pile of once neatly-pressed linen, Tonks heard the encumbered pot coming around for another attempt at stealing her consciousness. Throwing her arms out to ward off another head blow, Nymphadora tangled the original tablecloth around the ardently protesting bundle. Tying corners together, she searched out an appropriate place to secure the contrary crucible. Spying an armchair with enough delusions of grandeur to almost be considered a throne, she grinned. Using knots that would make a sailor proud, Tonks fastened the protesting bundle tightly against the overly embellished back of that upholstered bit of ego.

Turning back to her mound of rumpled cloths, Tonks pulled apart the attack. Obviously, the cauldron was animated in some kind of detection spell when she traversed into the light, but what was with all the bandages trying to ensnare her? Three times, in two different locations... she pondered a bit toying with possibilities and dismissing them one by one. All that was left was the idea that using magic somehow summoned the imprisoning strips. In a twisted sort of way, that made sense. Dark wizards would love to have a captive. Those could be tortured and toyed with for a virtual eternity, a dead witch wouldn't be worth as much.

Titiana's Bloomers! How was she supposed to find the secreted spell book of Morgana when she couldn't check for glamours or traps? Hopefully she could retrieve the horrific tome before any of these evil bastards could get here.

Stomping about in shadows probably wasn't the safest course of action. Mum had been quite candid about growing up with her psychopath of a sister; snares were the most innocent of the tricks Bellatrix had peppered shadows with. Finding a shatter-proofed jar in the magicked pockets of her duster, she sat it at her feet and piled some of the linens neatly, as her Muggle grandam had taught her, onto a snowflake covered square tablecloth that had been folded into a triangle. Pulling the center point up, over the mound of cloth, Tonks continued folding until she had finished what was a fairly convincing nappy. Holding it at the waist line, she cautiously lowered it into her pocket. Judging by what had already happened, miscellaneous linens would be a good resource to have at hand.

Quickly scooping up a spare covering, Nymphadora tied six knots, making an approximation of a man. Now to time it all just right.. Taking a deep breath, she cast bluebell flames into the jar and waited a couple of heartbeats before tossing the effigy high into the air.. Before it could land, the poor cotton man had become a cocoon.

Cradling the azure aura, Tonks scrambled deeper into the embrace of off-cast furnishings. Her steps punctuated fairly often with a litany of thumps and crashes, and though she winced fairly often she knew better than to try righting any of it. Heading west turned out to be much more difficult than she had originally thought. Virtual walls and towers of furniture kept funneling Tonks back to the lit path, all else was too tightly-packed to squeeze through. She must have somehow missed the entrance for the trail leading to Morgana's spells. Backtracking could be done, but would consume far too much time and might mean having to hold her own against some powerful witches and wizards. Pausing a moment to rub a now-contused wrist after tying an attacking bedpan in fancy linens and trapping it. This time she tossed the bundle into a wardrobe and fastened the handles locked with a dessert napkin, Tonks puffed out a sigh. This jungle of furnishings was a bit different than near the door, with more height and fewer upholstered pieces: mainly bedroom sets, it seemed. As Mad-Eye had often admonished her, Nymphadora decided to use her surroundings against the current problem. Spying a Tudor set with nicely heavy features instead of the delicate spindles on many pieces, Tonks shoved the fire-filled jar into a pocket and slipped her wand carefully into her custom-fit forearm holster, a gift from her parents.

One particular part of this pile had promise as a very novice cliff-climbers practice wall. In fact, the dressers and high boys might allow for a quick shimmy to the top if a few drawers were pulled out a bit. Placing herself in the path that ran between a couple of dresser stacks. Tonks pulled out drawers, alternating sides and jumping lightly back and forth until she was out of drawers. Clutching the carved-serpent finial on a bedpost for support, she pushed a lock of hair back out of her eyes and noticed that she was quite near the top, but on the eastern side of the chasm. Assuming she could find a good landing place, that shouldn't be a problem.

Swinging to the wooden serpent's partner, Tonks' cumbersome footwear sank and twisted a bit into what turned out to be an enameled urn. She shifted weight to her arms as her balance gave way and her legs twisted over the edge, searching for any perch available. A once elegant trinket box dislodged and tumbled, landing fully on a corner, shattering its beauty along with the mirrored top. Hoping not to find herself similarly broken, Nymphadora pulled with all her might until she was eye-to-eye and cheek-to-cheek with the mahogany snake, clinging more like a limpet and wrapping one leg around the post as soon as it was able.

No matter what the time constraints, the electric-rose-haired witch decided that pausing to get a sense of location might be in order. To the East, the well-lit main trail gleamed most hospitably, promising sunshine and lollies, it seemed. South-wise, the doorway could be barely made out, light glowing jade through the arched rectangle, reflecting the room just beyond. To the northwest was a faint turquoise tinge, not much of one, more of a tint washed away and faded. Who could tell whether it was a charm left over from a grand wizard's toying with spells or a light left burning to guide the homeowners to their goal. Just as likely was the chance that protective charms had caught and warped the light of her bluebell fire. She would never know without venturing forward, so forward it must be!


	2. Chapter 2

Scrambling over some odd sort of upholstered footstool and a vanity, Tonks found a nice expanse of flat, although it was quite bouncy. Sprinting across the large round mattress, she leaped across the canyon into the arms of a library chair once preferred by a pipe smoker to judge by the cloying sweetness forced into her nose upon collision with the padded back. Righting herself, the Auror continued north-west with considerably more ease now that she was above most of the furnishings. Jumping cubby-holes filled with puffskein husks and skirting around piles of pillows while making sure not to set herself aflame by tripping into the chandeliers filled with dim ever-burning torches, she continued in cautiously-optimistic spirits.

As she drew closer, the mist took a more distinct shape. It appeared to envelope one section more sparsely filled than the surrounding areas. Definitely a protective charm at work. Moody had given her a number of ways to counter-act the more common protective charms, but all required magic and that was currently out of the question.

Noting that there did appear to be at least three entrances, Tonks mentally eliminated quite a few of the more problematic protections... Drawing as close as possible to edge without climbing down from her loft perch, most of the aisles inside seemed most tidy and scrupulously organized. However, in an almost tucked away corner nearby, several dolls were arranged around a scarf having an impromptu tea with fresh flowers tucked among the dishes. Since it was highly unlikely that any adult would be sneaking into the basement to play with dolls after plucking daisies, children could most likely enter unassisted. Likely it was a family charm then, and one could only enter if one were a member of the family and knew a password. Where was she likely to find...oh wait, she remembered the cross lady!

Skittering across the pile to a promisingly squishy looking cushion, Tonks flopped cross-legged atop it. Deep thinking really was best accomplished when one didn't have to remember how to stay standing. What had the portrait told her? Well, it hadn't actually spoken, but there had to be something, there always was some small thing. Pouring over her memory, she finally lit upon the fireplace. Bold as brass, above it was the family crest with an elegantly carved "Adolebit Infecta" not the happiest motto, no wonder the family was dying out. "Burn the Tainted" hardly seemed a warm sentiment, but it could be the key to gain entry. It sound like just the kind of thing her pompous Black relatives would have done. Use it as a password to push the pure-blood drivel into their childrens' subconscious. Such a sad thing to do.

Alighting on the floor near a smaller gated area with only a few relics sliding to join her as far as gravity allowed, Tonks began to lose herself literally. Her normally perky electric-rose-colored hair lost all body and pulled itself to dangle inches above her waist except for the wispy fringe that was tickling eyebrows that were suddenly almost gone. The weight of this dishwater-blonde mass took her off guard, and Tonks pursed her now full lips. Transformations always felt a bit off, as if nothing quite fit anymore but usually she adapted quickly. Plucking at her new fringe with lengthened fingers, Nymphadora jabbed her eye and blinked her way through the watering pain. Wishing to check the accuracy of her new face, Nymphadora searched about for a mirror or well polished surface. Just a few meters away was a promising looking mass covered in white sheeting. Tugging the edge back enough to slip underneath, she found no mirror to peer into, but instead a tea service. Lifting the tray and polishing the unedtched section with the swipe of her sleeve, she pieced together her image from the glimpses she caught. Adjusting the nose a bit, so that it was more narrow over the bridge, Tonks was content with the overall effect.

Stepping confidently around a final turn, she came face-to-canvas with a guardian donning rich purple robes, emerald lace frothing from the collar and cuffs. Dignified, or perhaps just nearsighted, his eyes were open mere slits over a nose eerily similar to the one she now sported while one golden ring-bedecked hand idly waved a pair of square-rimmed gold spectacles in the air. His other hand was busy fussing with a rather grandiose bit of facial hair. Presumably it would be called a mustache, but growing as it did from ear to ear with the fullness of a Persian cat's tail, except where it joined the nose, the whole piece rather resembled a snow-white garland decorating the face for a festive Christmas.

Blustering a bit, coughing to cover inattention, his nasally voice greeted Tonks. "Well, well, hullo my dear. Can't say I have seen you before, although maybe you were younger." Pulling the glasses closer to his eyes, but never quite enough to see it seemed, he continued, "Obviously one of the blood! Indeed, how glorious the family nose looks on such a lovely personage!" At this, the gent paused, waiting for a favorable response. Blinking at the sudden requirement for conversation, Tonks spoke of her delight at having the sharp facial feature. " Honestly, I am in a bit of a hurry, company coming over. Do you mind if I go on through? Auntie thinks she left something down this way." She almost let loose a sigh at all the inconsequential prevarication, but managed to stop herself this time. " Adolebit Infecta."

He smiled a bit, happy to witness a young witch respecting her elder's wishes. "Well, well...We mustn't keep company or Aunties waiting if possible. Hurry along lovely." With a half bow, he swung the portrait out of the pathway and Tonks shuffled through with a quick "Thank you!" flung over her shoulder, and only a small vial of something unrecognizable tumbling from the wall she brushed against.

Once the painting resumed it's sentry post, Tonks shed the uncomfortable borrowed visage and reverted back to the pink haired auror that was her own. It just made everything run more smoothly and quickly if she was at ease with her own limbs. That didn't seem to change the fact that no matter what body shape she was in, Nymphadora Tonks was accomplished at helping things to fall. Though the towers were certainly shorter in this section and perhaps less would tumble down. Often it was inoffensive items or at least some that could be mostly repaired. Occasionally, they got her into situations that were difficult to extract herself from without real consequences, but she always hoped it was what she called a lucky accident.

Pausing to get her bearings, the intrepid auror apprentice just made her best guess based on intuition and trying to remember which furniture towers she had passed. Using a point-me spell would work much better, but if the general area had the pesky bindings, there was a distinct possibility that much worse resided in this restricted section.

Turning a corner, the shadows seemed to take over the area ahead. Nothing was blocking the light filling the cave, but it darkness seemed to branch out and bloom in shadows of various intensities. From somewhere out of sight, came faint muffled curses and a multitude of popping as bandages appeared to capture whoever it was that had arrived. She must hurry, if the dark wizards had arrived then she hadn't much time to recover the book without having to fight for it. Unwilling to enter the darkness ahead, the pink topped adventurer decided to fall back on what had worked before.

Shimmying up the shelves that rested against the chamber's wall, knowing that it was less likely to tumble due to her weight, Tonks dislodged some baubles and bundles that made a curious plop crash plop plop thhhrrrrrrrraaaaannnnnng. Glancing back at the floor beneath her after attaining the top, the fumble fingered girl saw a pile of broken crystal goblets half covered with a silver platter and a small rolled rug bearing the logo of a once-popular dealer. Good model, that one, reinforced binding came standard.

Doing her best to pick her way over the much narrower shelves, 'Nymphadora had to brace herself against the wall a bit. It was much slower progress than she had on the piles outside of the protected bubble. Still, risking the darkened passage below didn't seem to be a good idea...too many charms and traps could be well hidden where light couldn't suss them out. Odd growls and groans seemed to suddenly erupt, softened as if a monstrosity slumbered below. As she stepped cautiously over a candelabrum, a loud clanging and boom came from nearer the door, startling her into putting her foot directly on the rounded base. Shifting her weight, Nymphadora Tonks began to tip precariously over the edge of the shelf into the menacing grey below. Throwing herself backwards towards the wall in a desperate flail to stay upright, Tonks fell into unexpected nothingness.


	3. Chapter 3

Falling backwards was almost never a good idea. The lack of knowing or seeing what was ahead generally led to fear and not hope, especially when all goes dark as you are falling. Stomach-clenching fear, or certainty that she messed up had Tonks pulling herself into a loose ball and flipping over so that she could face the emptiness below. As she turned, a cheerful glow came into view. Her jar of bluebell flames must have slipped out of her grasp as gravity took over.

Reaching out for it, Nymphadora saw the floor rushing towards her and rolled to minimize injury. One picked up all sorts of useful tricks of self-preservation when accidents were as common place as they were in her life. Dad had an old textbook on acting from before he started Hogwarts and she had found the physical comedy section especially helpful. True, it was meant to be used to pretend to fall and remain unscathed. However, it proved very useful to use the same techniques when happened to be in one of her less than graceful situations, such as this.

Hitting the floor loose jointed, Nymphadora made sure to keep her head tucked to her chest while absorbing the force of the impact. Tumbling over completely a couple of times for good measure, a sharp snapping noise sounded behind her. Staying curled up like a frightened hedgehog, Tonks took in what surroundings were possible to see. A roughly-hewn cavern it seemed, not completely carved out, but with a few dry stalactites dangling and outcroppings of rock that were decapitated stalagmites peppered the open space. Back the direction that she had come were more bladed weapons slicing at intervals along the entrance.

These people really did have a strange affinity for decapitating the unwary. All blades were peppered along the space under three meters from the ground. Apparently, her "grace" had once again prevailed and the fact that she fell into the chamber instead of walking in like a sensible person saved her from great injury. Since no other threat seemed to come from that direction, she dismissed it and looked ahead.

In the far end of the smallish cavern was a cauldron emitting fairly unpleasant odors. Rather like a day-old dirty nappy and boiled sardines - not a fragrance anyone really wanted to be near for long, and probably a harbinger of things to come. Approaching with care and holding her jar for illumination, Tonks swallowed down the bile that rose into her throat and figured that having a nice tea was not in the days plan until she could switch clothes at least.

The writhing liquid had veins of cerulean but was in general the a murky moss green. Suspended in the center was a bubble of light. That orb was filled by a leather bound tattered book held closed with an embroidered belt. This must be it, the prize that she was to liberate from dark hands. Stepping forward for a closer examination, her foot crunched on something. Backing away slightly, she really didn't want to pitch forward into the cauldron on accident, Tonks checked the floor for any traps or switches. After all, no one would leave a valuable spell-book in the open without traps to catch the unwary. No traps or switches there, but the floor around the container was littered with bones and half decomposed bodies of rats contorted into unnatural positions, some in pocked pits.

Poison, it had to be, and the common rats who touched it had died painfully. Well, that was a trap...Now how to retrieve the book so that she could leave this horrid place. She took a deep breath to calm her mind's racing so that she might think the problem. Immediately she regretted her calming ritual when she began to cough violently, doing her best not to gag on the noxious fumes.

"Accio book!" she commanded. The object did not move, but spears with vivid green tips shot out of nowhere, aiming directly for her. Okay, so magic was still out and so was standing still when spears kept barreling at her. Pulling out another cloth, this one pink and green, Tonks began to wind it tightly. As the two projectiles turned for another run at running her through, she held her ground. At the last possible second, Tonks turned sideways and popped the cloth like her Muggle cousins had taught her. The force of the strike shattered the shafts and the acid green tips fell to the floor, burning into it before turning black. Who knew that those painful towel fights could save your life?

Looking at the pot, the nontraditional witch debated her options. Trying to carry the cauldron wouldn't work, it was almost as large as she was and sure as the sun rose, she would douse herself before taking a step. That only left somehow reaching the book. There was no way that she would risk her wand, prodding it into that repellent mess.

All of the possible outcomes didn't seem to be good at all. But what else was there?

Up-ending the entire pot would probably catch her in the mess as well. Patting through her pockets, she had an idea. Not a great one, but an idea none the less. Dragging more assorted linens out of her bag, 'Nymphadora Tonks started dumping them in one side of the cauldron. For while after each piece was added to the cauldron, a lurid orange smoke would spout forth then subside and the whole mass seemed to stiffen and turn to an odd aubergine color or else it spun off into brown flecks with a sizzling like water dropping into hot grease. Making sure to add each piece right on top of the previous, Tonks hoped she was moving fast enough. When the mass of linens had created a length that reached above the poison on the cauldron's opposite side, she began shifting them to the side a bit while adding them in. The place-mats were very helpful. Their filling seemed highly absorbent, and their stiff nature provided great structure to build upon.

Pausing to waft the fumes from her face, Tonks took note of how little liquid was left, most either absorbed or covered with the cloths previously added. Next to come out of the formidable placket was a wool cloth, knit in an intricate pattern less gaudy than the rest in a nice ecru. When the rapidly wearying witch put it into the cauldron there was a rather fierce crackling followed by a resounding explosion. Wool might not have been such a great idea.

The force blew Tonks back a few feet and the contents of the cauldron about the cavern. Thankfully, almost no liquid had been left, but now there were pieces of stiffened clothes strewn about and a the fragrance of the potion filled the area. Shaking her head to rid herself of a off-key tone ringing in her ears, 'Nymphadora dislodged a few scraps of linen off her person and swiftly rose to her feet. Nudging various lumps of stiffened soggy somethings with her combat boots, she finally found the book that had caused all this trouble.

Pages uneven, leather cover stained with enough variety of substances to make the original color open for debate, and hasty stitching patching a few holes; there was no doubt that the book had been through more than Tonks wanted to contemplate for terribly long. Reaching out and taking hold of the top corner opposite the spine, the auror sighed in relief when nothing unexpected happened. One could never fully trust legends and gossip. Carefully slipping the tome into her less-occupied inner pocket where she couldn't accidentally drop it or hand over in a brain-dead moment, she hurried back towards the entrance.

Watching the blades begin their deadly dance as she approached, Nymphadora finally caught on to their weakness. Trying to think herself as small as possible, feeling the odd pulling that always accompanied morphing, the spirited girl backed up a bit and began running pell mell at the exit. As she drew near the dangerous doormen, she through herself into a head first slide much like the otters that often played on the riverbanks near her parents' vacation home. With a whooshing of air brushing over her back, she really hoped that the blades didn't catch her clothes. Wiggling forward another meter just in case, Tonks stood, dusting herself off. Patting all she could reach did not show any new holes or missing parts which was a relief since she wouldn't be able to repair it anytime soon and one really didn't want to fight DeathEaters with her pants flashing about through torn robes.

A loud clattering came, some distance to her right. They must have known a shortcut, the dark wizards weren't far away at all. All that was left for them to overcome was the guardians and judging by the loud argument erupting between a few wizards and a shrill-voiced witch bent on denying them access, they were well on their way. How was she going to escape without fighting, dueling normally didn't bother her, but fighting both your adversary and the environment wasn't a pleasant prospect. Tonks headed towards the entrance she had arrived in, it hadn't appeared over used, so with any luck she would be able to slip right by her enemies without their knowing that she had ever been there. That would sure please Moody who often railed at her for her curious lack of stealth.

Trying to calm her heart enough for her mind to recall the girls form that she needed to exit unobtrusively, Tonks misjudged a step and found herself nose to the paving stones with a clattering crash tumbling about around her. Waiting a moment for the crashing to stop, the now-bruised witch sat up and spied what had caught her unwary boot. It was the beauty of a flying rug, high thread count of the softest silk/wool blend. A real treat to manage, she had heard, and also illegal. What a help it would be though, to not have to try and stealthily sneak past a horde of wizards with torture on their minds.

Tucking the unwieldy emerald and sapphire paisley roll of fabric with copper accents and tassels under her arm and managing to clear the rest of two shelves in the process, Tonks set off again. By the time she had reached the obliging portrait, her face was back to what he had seen before and she merely held the carpet up as proof of a successful visit. Walking quickly around the nearest corner, she laid the carpet out in the middle of the row and tried to remember the manual that she had once read while exploring the attic years ago. It had been for a completely different model, but hopefully they ran in a similar fashion.

Aligning herself on the center of the short side of the carpet, Nymphadora grasped the worn corner tassels and forcefully intoned "Aloft!" A tremor ran through the weft of the carpet and it shimmied a few inches off the floor for a few seconds before going limp and falling back to the floor. Stepping off and readjusting the vehicle flat on the hard floor, she tried once more, this time with a much more successful lift. Soon she was hovering a few feet off the ground. Tugging backwards on the tassels, to ascend and advance in the aisle, Tonks was gratified when the carpet obeyed her without a hesitation. Now just to find her way out of this cursed chamber as quickly as possible!

Rising all the more until once again in danger of hitting her head in the chandeliers, Tonks tried to keep over the piles of furnishings on the off-chance that this long unused bit of wool would suddenly decided to return to an inactive state. Shouting came from beyond an Edwardian monstrosity, along with a curse that singed the fringed side of her escape plan. According to the manual, tugging the tassels back was acceleration. Tonks tested the theory and shot forward, nearly losing her seat with the jolt that followed a small hiccup in the acceleration. Alternating the side she tugged upon, the still leery witch zigged and zagged along the ceiling in the rough direction of the exit.

Glancing back as more spells, followed by upset protestations filled the air, she narrowly missed another light fixture. Up ahead, the spells were more plentiful, a larger cluster of enemies it seemed. Letting loose of the tassels for a moment, Tonks scooped all the remaining linens and plopped them along the edges of the carpet, then zoomed directly toward the exit. As inertia caught them, the assorted tablecloths and napkins flew, a squadron of paratroopers entrapping the unwary dark witches and their spells. Before they had recovered, Tonks was out the door, and flying up the stairways to the spot she had left Moody, her face alight with an ecstatic smile. What a relief to be free of that confounding place. Nymphadora the Explorer had completed a mission successfully at last!


End file.
